


La fille aux cheveux de lin

by GalileoSunshine



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalileoSunshine/pseuds/GalileoSunshine
Summary: Chika asks Riko to play a song for her.





	La fille aux cheveux de lin

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOxJpPiFe0k) song, which is based off [this](http://www.poemswithoutfrontiers.com/La_Fille_aux_Cheveux_de_Lin.html#) poem.  
> Takes place in the future, when ChikaRiko are living together.

“Play me a song,” Chika asks with a sigh, and with half lidded eyes, laying in their bed with her head in her hands. Riko is nearby, playing listlessly at the piano right by their bed; it was her usual, light practice session before the two of them retired for the evening.

Chika loved Riko’s playing in these moments before bed…much more so than the grueling drills of the early afternoon, with its constant, constant, repetition of a single phrase at a time, until it echoed in Chika’s head long after Riko had stopped playing, leaving her ears aching. It made Riko exhausted too, and all too often exasperated, when she couldn’t get the notes to sound _just_ right. And sometimes it left her disappointed, because of her own ineptitude, and rarely, but still too often for Chika’s liking, it left her miserable, for having to continue regardless. Chika wished she could wipe away every crease of Riko’s cheeks and brows and lips that marked her frustration.

But such was the life of the pianist, in preparation for all the concerts she had. At least, that’s what it was in the afternoons.

Rather, Chika loved Riko’s playing the most after the sun had set, after a good dinner and light-hearted conversations and a warm bath had lifted the weariness from Riko’s shoulders, and she really _played_ at the piano, graceful and carefree. She had none of the harshness of the noon-time, but was light and buoyant on the gentle waves that her music made, swaying her body to the currents.

Chika loved listening to her then, when Riko played as though she was experiencing that night, and every night, just why she loved the piano so much, and why she forced herself through those unforgiving afternoon practices…

Riko’s fingers danced to a graceful stop at Chika’s request, before giving Chika that tinkling laugh that was a kind of song on its own.

“I _was_ just playing a song, Chika,” she says good-naturedly.

“Play _me_ a song,” Chika clarifies, her mouth turning up into a smile. Their usual banter.

Riko tapped at the stand that was for her sheet music in thought. “What kind of song would you like?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chika says, and it’s true, because she loved everything Riko played, especially because they were played _for her_.

Chika says as much to Riko, and she flushes. “I appreciate it, but that doesn’t help me choose anything.” Riko presses again, because be that as it may, she found it more special when she could play something Chika asked for specifically.

“Ahaha, you’re right,” Chika laughs sheepishly, and she thinks for a few seconds, before finally deciding. “Then…play a song that comes to you when you think of me.”

Riko mumbles. “That’s not very helpful either.” But surprisingly, she settles on a song soon after, because she never ran out of songs to capture what she thought of Chika. One in particular came to mind, one that she felt was befitting of the quiet, serene atmosphere they were sharing.

The fingers of Riko’s right hand lighted on the black and white keys, and Chika unknowingly closed her eyes as Riko pressed down, and the first note sounded out.

It was a single note, but it rang louder than any piece Riko had played that afternoon. The first note hovered, unmoving, in anticipation, and Chika held her breath. Then the melody began, falling slowly, then rising, and then falling again, in a calm rhythmic dance that was unaccompanied and pure.

Then Riko’s left handed joined in, and the chords resounded, rich and deep, but still gentle. The song continued, with its many pauses and held breaths and playful skips but always its quiet, continual plodding. The melody meandered up and down, up and down, as though Riko were sweeping a paintbrush across canvas, and the harmonies forming shapes of a portrait. Riko loved to paint, but it was in her music that she truly brought her artistic visions to life.  

And Chika saw, the imagery of Riko’s music. A flowering field, glistening with wet dew as the dawn broke above the horizon, its light reflecting off the cool water drops, and the song, floating above and through the field, carried by the wind.

Riko’s song began to grow stronger, climbing higher and higher on the keys, climbing and then taking off, soaring, like birds into the summer sunlight, and like Chika’s heartbeat taking off in her chest.

And then the piece quieted again, gliding down, now calmer than ever, until the sound dissipated to an echo, and the opening melody returned, repeated on a higher register, and Chika was floating among the clouds. And she drifted upwards, up and up with Riko’s melody as it drew to a euphoric end with two, tinkling octaves.

Chika opened her eyes, and let out a long, slow breath that felt like she had held for the entirety of the song. She looked over at Riko, and her hands were in her lap, a dreamy, content smile on her face of a piece well played.

And Chika loved _these_ moments even more, the quiet aftermath of a performance, when Riko looked so happy because she was completely immersed in the music, music whose passion she had once lost, but since found.

“That was beautiful,” Chika said, her heart still thrumming. “I think it’s my favorite song now.”

Riko giggled over the exaggerated compliment. “You say that every time.” Still, she beamed at Chika’s praise, and it was like she was a shy little girl again, playing a piece for the first time to her mom.

“Well, they’re all my favorite! I did say I love every piece you play for me.”

Riko smiled again, and sighed, because playing the piano brought so much happiness to her now, because Chika brought her so much happiness, and because playing the piano _for_ Chika brought her so much happiness.

“What’s the song called?” Chika asked. She tried to learn all the names of Riko’s songs. Sometimes she’d search them up to listen on her own, but no recording could match listening to Riko play right in front of her. “What were you thinking about when you chose it?”

Riko jumped at the chance to share some of her musical history. “It’s called, ‘ _Le fille aux cheveux de lin_ ’, or ‘The Girl with the Flaxen Hair’, by Debussy, and it’s actually based off a poem. I picked it because…well, because it describes who you are to me, Chika.”

“Eh, really?” Chika’s eyes glowed, and she sat up. “Why? Is it ‘cause I have flaxen hair? What does flaxen mean anyways?”

“I’m not sure, and I don’t think you have flaxen hair,” Riko laughed and scratched the back of her head. “But it’s not about the hair. You see, Debussy was sort of infatuated with this lady, Madame Marie Vasnier, who, by the way, had ginger hair. Hearing her singing moved Debussy so much he wrote this song about her, and a number of other songs too. In a way, Madame Vasnier was like Debussy’s muse, or…so I like to think of it.”

“Oh…” Chika hummed like she understood. Then she shook her head. “Wait, I still don’t get it.”

“It’s because you’re my muse Chika,” Riko answered. “Whenever I can’t think of what to play, whenever I can’t move forward with _any_ thing, I just think of you. You’re my ‘thousand songs’ Chika.”

“Oh…” Chika said again, for the second time. Both of their faces were red with embarrassment. “That’s a bit of a convoluted way of picking though…”

Chika trailed off. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Riko wasn’t usually so bold, nor so confessional, and it was causing her to blank. And not in the way Riko’s piano music made her head blank. But it felt good nonetheless. It felt like their old talks by the beach, where they’d reveal themselves to each other, lay each other bare. It felt like them.

Chika leapt from the bed and planted herself by Riko on the piano bench. “You’re my muse too you know. Without you, I wouldn’t have any of my songs.”

Riko didn’t say anything back. There was a time when she would try to fend off praises, because she felt it too vain. But now she was past that. Now, she reveled in those cheesy lines.

“Then, can I make a request too?” Riko asked, her eyes hooded beneath flitting eyelashes, and her smile shy like she was sharing a secret. Their secret. They were each other’s muses.

Chika flushed at this new side of Riko. “Of course!”

“Will you sing for me?”

Chika was silent for only a moment. “Only if you play along.”

“Of course!” Riko parroted. And they wordlessly began their duet. It was an old Aqours song, one they hadn’t sung in a long time. But it felt different, because it was just the two of them, and they sang only for each other.

And if there was anything Chika loved more than hearing Riko play piano, it was when she could sing alongside her. These moments, when they made music together, drawing from each other, creating something of their own, and creating something more beautiful than either of them could alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a kind of rambling fic that I cranked out in one night for me to get back into the groove of writing, since I joined a couple of writing events.  
> I hope people listen to the song and read the poem too! The descriptions might make more sense then, haha. Much of them were just me trying to convey the feelings I got when I listen to it and read the poem. In any case, it's one of my favorite piano pieces, and I love imagining Riko playing it to Chika as lullaby :)


End file.
